Fate
by musicandcitylights
Summary: A lonely wanderer stumbles upon a cottage.  Fate introduces her to a young boy with a mysterious past and unknown future.  Will fate disclose the secrets that his caretakers keep?  And if so, at what cost?  Starting eight years before The Man in the Iron Mask.
1. Prologue: Fate, part 1

**Here it is as promised! Special thanks and recognition go to my co-author Christina Lewis known as Jazzcat on fanfiction. Thanks so very much for your patience. More is to come! Enjoy!**

Prologue

It was raining – pouring from the sky in sheets of gray silk. Shivering and chilled to the bone, I scowled through droplets that clung to my lashes and gripped a fistful of my drenched skirt, dragging the hem out of the mud and slogging miserably through the wet forest.

Shelter. I just wanted shelter – a place I could wait for this relentless storm to lighten up.

I pressed a muddy hand against the damp bark of a tree, and then I saw it: The outline of a small cottage nestled cozily in an oak grove.

I blinked the water out of my eyes, and I stared to make sure I wasn't imagining things. The cottage was real.

Shaking strands of dark, wet hair out of my face, I hitched up my ragged skirt and dashed toward the grove. I threw myself against the solid door and my trembling fingers scrambled at the door handle. Wonder of wonders, the handle turned, and I stumbled with a gasp and a shudder into the dark cottage interior.

I stood there, dripping on the wooden floor and breathing heavily in the sudden peaceful quiet. I'd been in the midst of pounding rain for so long that the relief of shelter, of a roof over my head, was overwhelming.

Weariness swept through my thin body. I shivered in the wet clothes plastered to my skin. Cold pierced me to the bone, and my stomach growled. When was the last time I'd eaten?

I started to close the door when a shadow on the wall moved, like a ghost coming to life. I leapt backwards with a gasp and threw my balled fists up, ready to fight.

"Who are you?" I demanded, hating the way my voice shook. "Show yourself!"

The figure emerged, revealing a blond young man who looked about as shocked as I was.

He spoke hesitantly. "Actually, I was about to ask you the same question, seeing as you've intruded into my cottage without so much as a knock."

I ran a hand through my soaked hair. My cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment. "I…I'm sorry," I began. "I didn't…know anyone lived here."

Mustering my courage, I turned and faced the pouring rain in preparation to leave.

"Wait!" he hissed pleadingly. He too seemed apologetic. "Please, don't go out there again. You'll catch a cold. Please, follow me. But try to remain quiet. My caretakers are asleep."

He reached across me and closed the door, and a warm flush of weary gratitude swept through me. The boy beckoned me through a doorway and into another room where a small fire cast an orange glow on the bare wood walls.

"Stay here," he insisted quietly. "I'll be right back."

I nodded mutely and moved to the fireplace, longing for a little heat to calm my increasingly violent shivers. I sank to my knees, then looked up and caught his glance at me before he left the room. I heard his footsteps running up the stairs.

The meager warmth of the fire barely had a chance to thaw the numbness from my mind before the boy returned, holding several items in his hand.

"Here." He handed me a towel and then a blanket. "I brought you a shirt, if you'd like to change into something dry. I'm sorry I don't have a skirt you can borrow." He grinned at his own joke. "I can leave if you'd like to change."

"Umm…oui. Merci_._" I smiled lightly.

Soft blue eyes rose to mine, and we stared at each other for a long moment. I studied his eyes: they seemed kind, innocent and curious. I wondered what he saw in mine. Abruptly he averted his gaze and left the room, closing the door behind him.

I dried myself off and changed quickly into the long dry nightshirt, leaving my sodden, muddy dress in the corner. It was somewhat strange, wearing a man's shirt, but it felt good to have dry cloth against my skin for a change.

I took the blanket, wrapped it around my shoulders, and sat next to the hearth again. Warmth enveloped my senses like a pleasant haze. For the first time in weeks, I felt comfortable – and safe.

A tap came at the door. The familiar voice called softly, "May I come in?"

"Yes," I replied. The door swung open and the young man strode in. In one arm he carried a bundle of dry wood; in the other he hoisted a burlap sack. He pushed some of the wood into the grate, then turned and handed the sack to me.

"What is this?" I wondered, though curiosity had already gotten the best of me. I pulled open the sack to find a small round of cheese, a cut of bread, and an apple.

I'd never seen or smelled anything so wonderful in my life!

"You looked hungry," he explained, glancing over his shoulder with a smile as he stoked the fire. "I'm sorry it isn't much…"

"You've… no idea," I gasped gratefully, shoving a piece of bread into my mouth. I spoke around the food. "Merci…" Then I blushed at my lack of manners and gulped uncomfortably.

"Non, please." He set aside the poker and smiled – a very kind smile, I thought. "Don't mind me. You look famished, if you don't mind me saying. Just eat."

I needed no second bidding. I wolfed down the rest of the delicious bread before I started on the soft, mild cheese.

The young man sat across from me and watched me carefully, his face full of questions. "What's your name?" he finally asked.

I pushed the apple from my mouth and wiped away the juice that poured down my chin. This time, I waited until my mouth was clear of food. "Élisabeth," I answered, then finished off the apple. I threw the core into the fire and watched as it sizzled and popped, the edges curling and gradually turning black. A pleasant apple aroma wafted through the small room.

"Élisabeth," the young man breathed. His blue eyes grew so intense that I could no longer concentrate on the fire. "Where are you from? Why are you out all alone? Where's your family?"

I shook my head, finishing off the last of the cheese. "I have no family, nor a place to call home. My parents died when I was very young, or so I was told. I don't remember them." I said it without any sense of emotion. This wasn't the first time I'd had to answer this question during my travels, and although my words evoked sympathy in the listener, it did nothing for me. How could I miss parents I didn't remember?

"I grew up in a small orphanage," I continued, "but I ran away about two years ago. At least, I think it's been two years. It's been some time since I've seen a calendar. I've been living on my own, moving from place to place, looking for food and shelter."

He stared at me in shock. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Oh, we are the same age!"

Warmth spread through my chest. We shared a smile until a blush rose in my cheeks, driving my gaze to the floor.

He bit his lip thoughtfully, then frowned. "So, you've been on your own since you were twelve? Where are you going?"

I shrugged, my gaze shifting back to the fire. That was another question I'd heard before, and it bewildered me when a tiny wistful ache surfaced in my chest. "I don't know."

That puzzled him. His voice softened. "What are you looking for, Elisabeth?"

I hesitated, the ache in my chest swelling. "I…I don't know."

Silence fell between us. I swallowed hard, blinking at the unfamiliar swirl of emotions washing through me. At least when I was traveling, I didn't have to think about the future – my future. I simply existed in the here and now, placing one foot ahead of another, concerning myself only with how I would find my next meal and a warm place to sleep.

"How are you able to survive?"

I looked up at the young man again, grateful for a question I could answer.

"At first it was hard," I admitted with a sigh. "There were days when I went without food and shelter until I—"

I broke off, staring at him. I didn't want to say any more.

"Yes?" prodded the boy with an innocent curiosity and a profound lack of guile.

_Maybe…maybe I can trust him._

"I fell in with a caravan of gypsies," I confessed.

His eyebrows shot up. "Gypsies! I thought they were—"

"Tramps and thieves?" I interrupted with a smile. Then I sobered. "Maybe. But they were kind to me, and one of the women showed me how to gather food in the woods. She taught me which plants to eat and which were poisonous. That knowledge has saved my life more than once, especially after I—I struck out on my own."

I wasn't about to reveal the circumstances that caused me to leave the gypsies behind. He must have sensed my determined silence on the subject, and - to my relief and gratitude – he pursued the issue no further.

"So I traveled through the woods. When I lived at the orphanage, they barely fed us enough and most of the food was hardly edible, so I resorted to 'hunting' for my own food. There was a farmer's field across from the orphanage, and though we weren't allowed to go there, I would sneak over at night and pluck all sorts of things."

"You were a thief?" he frowned.

"No, I…" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, frowning in my own turn. "I…I don't like stealing, but I was starving. So were the other children, and I…I brought them whatever I could." I bit my lip, then cast an imploring look at the boy. "I had no choice. We were desperate. You do understand, don't you?"

At first, there was no answer. Then, slowly, he nodded and offered me another warm smile. "Though I've never had to find my own food, your actions were those of a noble heart, Elise…"

_Elise_. That was the first time I had ever been called that, but I loved the way it sounded — especially from him. But why? What was it about him that made me feel the way I did?

My throat tightened, and I had to clear it twice before I could go on. "I prefer begging to stealing, and I haven't stolen anything in a long time. I haven't had to," I added with a touch of pride. "I can gather my own food, or…I can beg, when I must. I can work as hard as any boy," I lifted my chin a little higher, "and I can earn a decent meal and a place to stay for the night – providing I find a farm willing to hire me."

The boy looked bemused. "Aren't you afraid of meeting ruffians on the road?"

I choked down a laugh, then smiled. "No. I'm very good at hiding."

He smiled back at a me – a smile that warmed me clear down to my toes. "You're a regular wood nymph, aren't you?"

I tilted my head. "What's a wood nymph?"

It was his turn to choke down a laugh. "Never mind. So you wandered here, entirely by chance?"

I nodded vigorously and shivered. "Tonight was miserable! I couldn't find a dry spot anywhere and I actually got lost. I was thankful to come upon your cottage. What about you?" I took a deep breath, suddenly curious about my companion and aware that the entire conversation had been focused on me.

He raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes alight with silent laughter. "You want to know how I found this cottage?"

I blushed. "No, no. Not exactly. What's your name, and why do you live here?"

The young man seemed entranced by my story, and he did not respond for a long time. The fire crackled and snapped in the grate, and I pulled my blanket closer, staring at the boy.

Finally he drew a breath and spoke. "I am called Philippe. I've lived here ever since I can remember, and I have no knowledge of my parents. I was told by my caretakers that my father died before I was born and my mother passed away during childbirth."

Struck by the similarities between us, I could only smile. Abruptly I realized that he might have expected sympathy from me – the same sympathy I experienced whenever I related my own tale – and I scowled away the smile.

"I'm sorry," I offered.

Philippe froze.

I stared at Philippe, who looked as white as his shirt. Before I could ask what was wrong, his blue eyes jolted upward and fixed on a point above my shoulder. I twisted around and looked in the same direction.

I jumped.

Two people stood at the door, half-hidden in the shadows – an older man and a woman. Both were as pale as Philippe. Both stared at me.

They looked angry.

Philippe stood up slowly.

"Who is this?" the man demanded, glaring at me.

"She…her name is Elisabeth," Philippe answered with trepidation in his voice. "I…she needed help."

"Young lady," the man boomed at me, "come here."

I stood up slowly and clutched the blanket in my small hands. The man was tall, and his gray hair crowned a bald spot on his head. His features were sharp and angular, and his clothing was black. Especially now that he was angry, he made an imposing figure in the semidarkness. The woman was much shorter and heavyset. Her face was etched with wrinkles and I could spot loose gray tendrils of hair flowing around her face. The shadows made her look like a witch.

I trembled in their presence, my heart beating hard in my chest – hard enough to drown out the rain pounding against the roof. I faced the man who addressed me. "Is something wrong, monsieur?" I asked cautiously. "I'm…I'm sorry for barging in, but I was so cold and hungry and—"

"Come here!" the man ordered again then turned on Philippe. "We will deal with you later."

I glanced at Philippe, who looked down at the floor as if he'd committed some kind of crime. I felt my face burn. I took a few more shuffling steps toward the man, my head lowered.

"Please, don't punish him on my behalf. I let myself in, and—and he was gracious enough to let me stay. I didn't realize anyone lived here. I just wanted to get out of the rain."

The man and the woman looked at each other for a long moment, then abruptly relaxed. I looked nervously from one face to the other, wondering why their demeanor had changed so suddenly.

Philippe's voice broke the tense silence. "Please, Alard, Mae. Please don't throw her out! At least let her stay until the rain stops."

The woman, Mae, glanced at Alard, who looked back at Philippe. "Very well, but I want to ask some questions of you." He glanced over at me.

Swallowing hard, I nodded. "What do you wish to know?"

Alard ushered me into the kitchen and closed the door behind him, which vaguely frightened me. I felt trapped.

"Sit down," he commanded, pointing at a chair near the table.

Willing my legs not to shake out from under me, I did as I was told. The man took a seat across from me, then leaned forward intently. He folded his long, bony fingers and regarded me with steely gray eyes beneath dark, bushy brows.

"Who are you, girl, and where do you come from?"

Trying to keep my voice steady, I gave him the same answers I'd given Philippe. But I left out the gypsies, hoping he hadn't caught that part of our conversation.

"How long have you lived in France?"

"All my life."

He went on. "Who is the current king of France?"

"I—I don't know."

The man stared hard at me. "Have you ever been to Paris or seen the royal family?"

"No, monsieur," I answered quietly, hopelessly bewildered. Would this man throw me out of the cottage, simply because I didn't know the king?

"Very well." Apparently satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, then rose to open the door. He stopped abruptly and glowered at me, those terrible eyebrows lowered like thunderclouds.

"Oh, and one more thing, Elisabeth. When you leave this cottage in the morning, you are not to utter a word about what you have seen here or discussed with any of us. And you are never to return here again. Is that understood?"

I stared at the man incredulously, and my heart wrenched. Why did everything have to be a secret? Why wasn't I allowed to return? I wanted to see Philippe again.

"Do you understand?" Alard asked again, this time in a harsher tone.

Pleading with him would get me nowhere, and I knew it. Swallowing down a lump in my throat, I nodded. "Oui, monsieur."

"Good." The man opened the door and signaled for Philippe and the woman to enter.

"I have brought down a small pallet," declared the woman, making it sound more like a command than a generosity. "You will sleep there tonight."

"Merci," I whispered to the table. In truth, I was afraid to leave the chair without permission.

Fortunately, I didn't have to. Philippe sat beside me, but we spoke little while his caretakers prepared supper – in between suspicious glances at me. The atmosphere in the kitchen stifled me until I couldn't breathe.

The meal was an awkward affair, and although I was famished, I was grateful when it was over.

"Would you like me to help with the dishes?" I asked Mae politely.

She gave me a sour look. "No. Go to bed."

Despite the long nightshirt I wore, I managed a slight curtsey. "As you wish. Goodnight."

She didn't respond as I moved to the other room where the pallet lay near the fire. When the caretakers finished cleaning the kitchen, they marched past me with candles and made their way to their own rooms.

The light of the candles faded, leaving me in the semidarkness with only my thoughts for companions. The fire faded to glowing orange embers in the grate, and I sighed and rolled onto my side to stare at them. There were so many questions I had about Philippe and his caretakers, but no answers. It was like a puzzle – a mystery with too many obscure clues. And I couldn't sleep with them swirling through my head.

The floor creaked behind me, and I sat up with a startled gasp.

"Who's there?" I whispered nervously.

"Shh! It's me, Philippe."

I breathed a sigh of relief as the boy cautiously scooted closer, and I could hardly discern his form from the shadows. He knelt down beside me.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he began hesitantly.

I smiled wryly. "You're the least frightening thing in this cottage," I whispered back. I nodded meaningfully at the stairs. "Why are they so secretive?"

Philippe looked shocked. "Secretive?"

"Well, yes. And very suspicious." In a hushed voice, I shared with Philippe how the man had interrogated me and what he instructed me to do.

Philippe's face fell. "So… we will not see each other again?"

I suddenly shook my head. "It doesn't have to be that way, Philippe. I could always come back; I'm really good at hiding." I smiled.

For a moment, his face lit up. Then he frowned. "No, I don't want you to get into trouble. If the father finds out…"

"The father?" I questioned. Then it dawned on me. The man was a priest. "Why would he punish you for helping a stranger? I would think that a priest would not frown on such a thing."

Philippe shrugged. "I don't know. But I have been punished before for leaving this house without his permission. He doesn't usually stay here; he just stayed tonight because he didn't want to travel in the rain."

A tendril of hope sprang to life inside of me. "Where does he go?"

"I don't know, but he often won't return for days."

That was exactly what I'd wanted to hear. "Well, how will he know I'm here if he is not around?" I grinned deviously.

"Mae will tell him," Philippe sighed.

"Mae? Oh, the woman," I mused.

Philippe turned his kindly gaze on me. "Please do not think them cruel. Mae and Father Alard really have been good to me for my whole life. I just wish I knew why I haven't been allowed to see anyone besides them."

I stared. "You mean that they are the only ones you have ever been in contact with?"

"Yes."

I shook my head in confusion. Why would someone want to keep him hidden? As if searching for answers, I scanned the room around me. The walls were barren, save a couple small paintings of flowers. I observed them carefully in the dim orange light.

"Did you paint those?" I wondered.

"No, Mae did. She is a decent artist. She actually made those and a few more to brighten up the walls with. And she is teaching me how to draw." He smiled.

I smiled back. "I would love to see your drawings sometime."

We shared another smile.

I rubbed my fingers through my damp, tangled hair. The rainstorm had done awful things to my dark brown locks. Catching a knot, I frowned.

"Do you have a mirror? I was hoping to straighten my hair out."

"M…mirror?" Philippe asked with a trace of confusion.

I stared at him curiously. "You do know what a mirror is, don't you?"

Philippe clamped his mouth shut and looked down, as if embarrassed.

I stared at him in shock. This boy didn't know what a mirror was? Such a simple thing had been withheld from him all these years? I'd thought myself poorly treated by the orphanage, but at least they gave us mirrors!

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

My heart ached for him. He wasn't allowed to see anyone outside his two caretakers, he had no knowledge of his past, and on top of that he was not even privileged to look upon his own reflection.

"Merely a trifle," I assured him. "It's fine, really." I smiled kindly, though inside I grew more and more suspicious of Mae and Father Alard.

"I should probably get to bed before I get caught," Philippe said abruptly, rising to his feet. With a gentle smile, he made me a courtly bow, then turned to leave.

"Before you go…" I rose from my palette and moved toward him, embracing him in a hug. "_Merci Beaucoup! _We will see each other again, Philippe — of that I promise you. And I also promise you that I will not allow us to be caught!"

He smiled at my promise and received me in an awkward hug, then bid me goodnight. As he disappeared into the darkness and his footfalls faded on the stairs, I made my way back to the pallet and grabbed the blanket. I wrapped myself tightly in its warmth and curled up in a ball.

The warmth of Philippe's presence remained in the room, as if he still lingered, and my thoughts were occupied with our recent interactions. There was something about tonight that was different than any other of my wanderings.

For tonight, fate had brought us together. I was certain of it.


	2. Prologue: Fate, part 2

**Thanks very much for your patience. I apologize for the incredibly long wait but unfortunately life got ahead and the story took a drastic pause. My co-author has been incredibly busy so I have decided to go ahead and post my unedited, non-co-authored version of the story for now. This is to be read at your discretion as of course when my awesome co-author/editor is available again everything will be updated with the fixed and much better version. Thanks again!**

**Author's Note: Aside from the occasional Oui, Merci, Non, I have added a few other French words you may or may not recognize. Some being phrases. "Il n'était rien" is translated as "It was nothing". "Il était tout" means "It was everything."**

* * *

Two years later.

The sun's warm rays began to rise, cascading hues of orange, yellow, and red over the darkened woods.

It was morning.

Bright rays flooded across my face, streaming in through the wooden planks in the barn. I rolled over with a yawn then sat up. I stretched and twisted until every bit of my body was rid of sleep.

Throwing off the thin blanket I stood up and brushed my dress and hair, bidding the remainder of straw off of me. It had been another long night of work, but I was grateful to have been hired. This family had offered me the barn for a night's rest and paid me graciously with a full dinner. Now, it was time to leave again. It was time to visit Philippe once more.

The thought of Philippe excited me and willed me to leave quicker. For two years we had been secretly meeting, never once caught, but had a few close calls.

I made my way out of the barn and into the clear morning light. Dew clung to the grass beneath me as I walked westward back to the cottage. I admired the colors of the leaves as they began to change from shades of green to bright ribbons of golden red. A flock of geese suddenly flew overhead in a perfect "V" formation, their silver and black wings flapping and soaring above the white clouds. Fall was coming soon.

I smiled at the thought of such a perfect day. What could possibly go wrong?

I stopped shortly spotting the cottage just ahead. I waited cautiously. I had to make sure the area was clear of Father Alard's carriage. I made the mistake once in not checking that factor before and I almost walked in on Philippe's confession with him. But now Philippe would let me know when he would come and visit.

Mae was easy enough to avoid as she stayed within the house most of the time and either cooked or cleaned. She hardly bothered to check on Philippe unless he needed her. Not because she didn't care, but rather because it was getting difficult for her to travel up the staircase where Philippe's room was.

This was an advantage for both of us.

Assured that everything was clear, I ran quickly across the field and jumped the fence behind the house like I had done a hundred times before. The next part was a bit difficult. The trellis along the back wall was easy enough to climb but there were patches of thorns that stuck out amongst the roses that trailed upward along it.

I climbed up carefully, avoiding the thorns as much as possible. Reaching the open window I spotted Philippe who was sitting at a desk with paper and pencil in hand. He must have noticed me because he stopped abruptly and turned my direction.

"Elise!" Smiling, he stood up quickly. But not before he tucked the piece of paper behind his back.

I climbed into the room and pointed around him. "What was that?" I folded my arms and stared at him with a playful grin. "What are you hiding?"

"N-Nothing." He responded quickly and backed a step away.

"Oh really?" I grinned bigger, teasing him. "Well if it's nothing then I'm sure you wouldn't be hiding it then…" I took a step forward in turn then darted toward him.

"No…no…Elise!" He threw his hand above my head waving the paper frantically away from me. "I'll, I'll let you look at it later...I promise!"

We both stopped abruptly hearing a faint voice. "Shhh…" he bid me to stay quiet then cracked the door open.

The voice called again. It was Mae. "Philippe? Are you alright?"

"Oui!" He called back. "I…uh…I just, I was reading one of my books out loud!"

"Well that sounds like a dangerous book!" she called back. "Try to be a bit quieter alright?"

"Oui madame!" he replied then shut the door quietly.

We both looked at each other then burst into quiet laughter.

"Let's go out today!" I whispered, temporarily forgetting about the paper. "I want to show you something I found!"

"Out?" he looked back at the door then at me. "But we've never been out before…except that one time, and we almost got caught!"

"I know, but Father Alard isn't here today is he?" I smiled. "Come on, I really want to show you this place!"

Philippe thought it over. Then glancing back at the door once more he finally nodded. "Alright, let's go." He motioned toward the window, bidding me to go first.

I nodded with excitement then made my way down the trellis.

Philippe followed quickly after.

Spotting the piece of paper tucked into his back pocket, I quickly grabbed it.

"Elise!" he gasped and began chasing me.

We hopped the fence and ran across the field. I ran ahead of him attempting to pull the paper open.

"Elise! Don't open it, at least, not yet!"

Catching a trace of what it was I smiled. "It's a drawing! Oh come on Philippe, it can't be that bad!"

"It's not that…it's…it's…"

It was too late. I opened the paper. I stopped abruptly and gasped. "Philippe…I…"

I looked between the drawing and Philippe who was panting heavily and leaning forward with his hands on his knees. It was a half drawn portrait of my face!

"It's not finished…" he shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed. "I didn't mean for you to see that yet…"

"Oh Philippe…" I breathed, overcome with emotions that gripped my very soul.

"What do you think of it?" he cut me off hesitantly.

I stared at the portrait for a long moment. "I…I love it! It…it's perfect! No one has ever done anything like this before for me. _Merci_ Philippe!" I was so overcome by his gift that I embraced him in a tight hug and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

We both blushed and I grabbed his hand with my free one, leaving the half drawn portrait in my other.

"So, you really like it?" he inquired, his face still a bright red.

"I _love_ it!" I smiled at him. We blushed again.

"I'm glad." He responded shyly. "As I said before, it's not finished, so you have to promise me you'll let me finish it before I give it to you!"

I squeezed his hand. "I promise!"

As we walked hand in hand through the open fields, we discussed several things. Occasionally we would stop for a moment and admire the trees, birds, and other living creatures. We both had an amazing affinity for nature and it was a joy to share it together.

We stopped shortly in a field of wildflowers. Bright colors of yellow, red, purple, and blue dotted all over the ground. Philippe broke from my grasp. "Wait here!" He ran somewhere off in the distance. A few minutes later he came back with his hands behind him.

"Close your eyes!" he smiled.

"Alright." I smiled in turn closing them. I could feel his hand grasping mine and then something being placed into it.

"Open them!"

I opened my eyes again and looked into my hand. A beautiful arrangement of flowers lay there. "Ah! These are lovely!" I put them to my nose smelling the sweetness, then tucked one into my hair. "You didn't have to do that for me. You have already given me a gift and I have yet to give you one!"

"It's fine. I wanted to, and that's all that matters. You don't have to give me anything Elise, your presence is enough."

My face grew hot suddenly. I diverted my gaze. I managed to look back at him. "Let's go find that place I was telling you about!"

I pulled the bouquet into the hand that held the drawing and with my free hand I led him to the new place I had found. Just ahead lay a small grove of trees surrounding a huge crystal clear pond.

As we neared the pond I gasped at a realization and pointed downward. "Look Philippe! It's your very own mirror!"

He blinked at me then looked down into the water. Then he understood.

He stepped forward, slowly releasing his grip from my hand. All his concentration was on the reflection beneath him. His frame began to tremble.

"Philippe?" I hesitated. He appeared mesmerized, almost fearful.

I watched him as he knelt down onto the mossy bank and peered at his reflection. He turned his head different ways watching his mirrored self do the same thing.

To many people a mirror was just an ordinary thing but Philippe had had no such blessing. This must be a strange sight, I thought.

I slowly knelt beside him and placed my face over the water as well. His gaze caught mine in the pool's reflection.

"This…this is so strange…yet…" he broke off. I gazed up into his blue eyes. He glanced away hiding his emotion. He cleared his throat then continued. "Yet…it is so wonderful!" He turned away and I caught his hand brush across his face.

I felt a knot beginning to form in my throat. The emotion he had at his reflection forced a deep ache within me. It rose slowly through my chest and up through my eyes until I could hardly bare it any longer.

I bit my lip trying to hold back my own tears. Unknowingly I had offered him the greatest gift he could have ever wanted.

"_Merci_ Elise…" he whispered. His gaze cast downward staring at his reflection again.

"Il n'était rien" I replied lightheartedly.

"Non_; Il était tout_" he replied intensely, his eyes filling with tears again. He grabbed my hand.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Something about the way he touched my hand felt different and I caught my breath. "Philippe!"

He moved closer to me and kissed me on the hand. "_Merci Beaucoup_!" he said again. And this time I could not contain myself. Tears welled up in my own eyes and for the first time, we were both vulnerable. We spilled our emotions all over the soil beneath us leaving puddles of fresh tears.

Our overwhelming emotion did not seem to bother nature however, and I marveled at how the birds went about their business in the trees, chatting merrily amongst one another. Minutes passed and we just sat quietly. His hand did not leave mine and inside I was melting at his touch.

I leaned closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder before wiping the remaining tears from my face.

"So, you have offered me a gift, and I have offered you one…" I smiled.

He nodded and smiled back. "So it would seem. But yours isn't finished yet!" He took a long breath and sighed. "How did you find this place?"

"I was on my way back to the cottage after working for a family and I came across it. It was halfway hidden behind all these trees and I almost missed it."

I paused and looked at him meaningfully, "But I'm glad I found it, just as I am glad I found you!"

His eyes met with mine. Time froze and I do not know how long we stared at each other. We pressed closer. Philippe leaned in. I could feel his hot breath against my lips. My heart pounded against my chest as I leaned forward and accepted his offer. Our lips intertwined. For the first time we were blissfully unaware of the circumstances that kept us apart.

I released the paper and flowers onto the ground and held his arm. He leaned forward to embrace me when suddenly we slipped. Water exploded and sprayed around us. We jumped upward and scrambled to the edge of the bank. Somehow we must have leaned too far and fallen into the pond.

Philippe spit out water as I wiped it from my eyes.

We burst into laughter.

The frogs did not seem to share our enthusiasm. They scrambled up onto the banks and peered at us through dark eyes.

"This is your fault!" I teased, poking at him.

He raised his eyebrows amused. "My fault?! The obvious answer would be you! If it wasn't for your beauty then we wouldn't have gotten into this mess!"

I blushed and laughed. "Well I suppose I can't help that!"

"Non, I suppose not!" Philippe laughed then suddenly frowned. "Oh no! Where's the drawing?!" He spun frantically searching for it in the water.

I spun around in turn. It was nowhere to be seen. Then it dawned on me. I must have dropped it on the ground before we fell in.

I sloshed through the water and peered at the edge of the bank. "There it is!"

Philippe glanced in my direction and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness! I want to finish it, not start over!"

He moved to the edge and pulled himself up then offered his hand to me.

I pulled my skirt up in one hand and took his hand with the other. He hoisted me up and I stumbled forward, my face landing an inch from his.

Blushing ear to ear, I quickly stood up and wrung out my wet hair.

Philippe stood up in turn and looked back in the direction of the cottage.

"Is something wrong?" I wondered.

"Non, everything is fine…but I think we should get dried off just in case."

I nodded. "Perhaps we can just move out of the shade here and into the sunlight in that field over there."

"That sounds like an idea." He smiled.

He picked up the drawing and the bouquet then walked with me to the open field.

As the afternoon sun rose to the peak shining brightly in the blue sky, hues of warmth surrounded our soaked bodies. Within no time, we were beginning to dry off.

We chatted the day away. Time passed without any acknowledgement from us. We didn't even realize how long it had been until the sky grew dark and the sun turned red as it set.

"We should probably head back…" I frowned, glancing at the now dusk sky.

"Perhaps you're right…" he sighed. Standing up he offered me his hand once more. Then handed me the bouquet and tucked the drawing into his back pocket again.

I graciously took both offers and we moved quickly back toward the cottage.

The closer we got to the cottage however, the more unnerved I felt. Something wasn't right. I could sense it.

We passed through a densely wooded area just before emerging on the other side where the cottage sat.

We stopped abruptly.

My eyes widened. "That's…Is that?"

"It is!"

"But I thought you said he wasn't here today!"

"He's not supposed to be!" Philippe responded just as panicked. "I better run to my room! I hope he hasn't checked on me yet!"

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Look!" I pointed at where Father Alard's carriage sat. Next to it sat two ominously black carriages and an array of unfamiliar horses.

Philippe's brow furrowed in confusion and I could feel his hand tremble in mine.

Suddenly, there was a shrill cry from inside.

"Mae!" Philippe darted forward, but I held him back. "Shhh! Philippe. Follow me!"

"But I have to save her! What if something is wrong?! What if…"

"What if something_ is_ wrong and what if whoever they are catch you and try to harm you!"

Philippe's terrified eyes stared into mine.

We both shook with adrenaline and terror as another yell could be heard from inside. This time it was from Father Alard. But it was no ordinary yell. It sounded as if he was calling for someone.

I pulled Philippe back into the darkness of the woods and we watched and waited silently.

A group of men sprung from the house, each yelling something indiscernible. They had weapons drawn.

I looked at Philippe who was trembling violently.

"It's okay." I whispered, barely believing my own words.

"Where are Mae and Alard?" he cut off not wanting to know the answer to his own question.

"I…I don't know…" I swallowed. My brown eyes scanned the area and watched the men as they dispersed. "What are they doing?"

Philippe shook his head. We both watched silently.

Philippe pointed ahead. "Mae! Alard! They're alright!" He looked at me with new hope in his eyes.

Sure enough, they both came out of the house. Both looked unharmed yet distraught.

I shook my head. "Philippe…run away with me!"

"What?!" he stared at me in shock.

"I think those men are after you! Run away with me! Let's leave this place!"

"I…" he looked between me and his caretakers. "I can't Elise! I can't." he sighed. "What if they need me? Perhaps those men are here to make sure I'm safe!"

"Safe?!" I stared at him in disbelief. "I doubt their weapons would agree with your theory!"

"What can I do?!" Philippe frowned.

"Come with me!" I tugged on his shirt, my brown eyes staring into his pleadingly. "Please Philippe!"

Philippe didn't respond for a long moment. He was indecisive. I could tell he didn't want to leave his caretakers there.

A voice somewhere near us caused us to jump. Footsteps plowed our way.

I made the decision for him. Unknowingly dropping the bouquet of flowers, I grabbed Philippe by the arm and led him deeper into the thick forest.

I put a finger to my lips ordering him to follow my steps.

One wrong move could find us out.

The darkness of the woods made it increasingly difficult to avoid branches and other things that would make our existence known. Yet I was grateful for the night that shielded us.

A glowing light could be seen near us to the right. They were coming!

I pulled Philippe toward the left. We had to avoid the light as much as possible.

The hoot of an owl on the branch above us caused us both to jump and I met eyes with the creature of the night hoping he wouldn't reveal our location.

We pushed past a few more trees then stopped on the other side of the forest where a big open field lay. Open field was dangerous for anyone being hunted, there, we could easily be spotted.

A twig snapped behind us. My heart leapt in my chest. We spun around. The figure emerged.

I caught my breath then sighed out of relief. It was just a doe.

"We need to get out of here!" I whispered to Philippe and pointed ahead. "If we can cross this field there is another patch of woods and we can hide in there for a while."

Philippe nodded reluctantly and we both got ready to run.

"On my mark…run!"

We bolted out of the forest and into the moonlit field running as swiftly and quietly as possible. The small grove of trees was just ahead.

A horse whinnied nearby. We picked up the pace.

I grabbed Philippe's hand and we ran as fast as we could. Just a little further and we would be safe behind the thick wall of trees.

We darted inside the forest. I pulled Philippe further and further into the thickness of the woods until we could move no more. Overcome with exhaustion we bent forward and tried to catch our breath.

I looked around, frantically searching for an escape. My eyes adjusted to the darkness around me. If we could get higher up, we would not be as likely to be discovered. My eyes landed on a large oak tree that looked easy to climb.

"Philippe!" I whispered. "Let's get up in that tree. We can hide there."

"Anything is better than running!" he panted in agreement.

We climbed the tree with what little energy we had left.

We sat and waited listening for any sign of a voice or footstep. Long minutes passed and we heard nothing.

"Perhaps they've given up?"

Philippe shook his head. "If they have, they will inevitably try again. But why? What do they want with _me_?"

That was a question that neither of us could answer. What _did _they want with Philippe?

Cool wind blew through the treetops and pushed hard against us. A violent shiver from cold and adrenaline coursed through my body. Philippe pulled me closer to him and we used each other as a shield and comfort against the cool night air.

Time passed and nothing but the howl of the wind and the sound of crickets or the occasional hoot of an owl could be heard.

"They must have given up their search." Philippe mused staring cautiously ahead for any sign of movement.

I nodded. "We should keep moving. Let's get as far away from this place as possible! I know of another place we can hide. There's an abandoned barn not too far from here but we will have to travel as quietly as possible to get there. Beyond this forest lies more open field and roads."

"So, there's no going back…I can never return, can I?" Philippe stared into my eyes. Sadness washed over his face.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry."

He nodded with understanding though his sadness was evident.

I scanned the forest again. There was no trace of a single human being anywhere. "We should go."

Philippe climbed down first and made his way to the ground. I began to move but stopped abruptly. A shadow of a figure emerged from behind Philippe and grabbed him. He yelled in panic as a cold sword was placed against his throat.

I held back a scream. If I let them know my location there was no chance for Philippe's escape. The man began to yell for the others. I searched frantically for any way to keep them from taking Philippe. My eyes landed on several acorns. I quickly plucked several and gathered them in my skirt. I took aim. I threw one. The acorn hit the man on the head but it wasn't hard enough to do anything but divert his attention. At least he wasn't yelling anymore.

I threw another. This time it landed between his eyes. He held onto Philippe but looked up into the tree. I then proceeded to throw several in succession, pelting him with one after another until I ran out. Philippe used the diversion as an advantage and pushed him backwards into a tree.

The startled man released his grip. I climbed down halfway then jumped. Philippe grabbed my hand and we ran again. The man began to yell and chase after us but we easily evaded him. We ran as hard as we could. The trees began to thin and the sight of yet another open field could be viewed. There was no turning back now. We leapt out of the forest and into the open field.

Our hearts raced. Behind us we could hear commotion, and it was gaining on us.

Somewhere near us the sound of horses' hooves could be heard breaking into a hard gallop. I looked to my left. Two horses with ominous riders began to plow our way.

"Run Philippe!" I screamed.

We picked up the pace as best as we could. Philippe stumbled.

He quickly pulled himself back up.

Our legs shook violently beneath us. Our chests swelled with pain.

The horses were right beside us now. One pulled right in front of us causing us to fall backwards. "Stay where you are!" the second man ordered holding his gun straight at us. The other men emerged from the woods and quickly surrounded Philippe and I.

"What do you want with us?!" I screamed.

They evaded the question. The one before us looked at the other. "Take them both."

Rough hands grabbed us. They bound our wrists with rope then hoisted Philippe and I upward where we were forced onto the horses. Philippe was placed with the one who had given instruction; I was placed with the gunman.

It wasn't long before the familiar sight of the cottage was spotted. As soon as we arrived they pulled us off the horses.

Philippe and I glanced at each other. Our expressions contained worry and fear.

A voice screamed to our left.

Philippe and I looked up to see Mae who was running toward him but quickly stopped by Father Alard.

Then they saw me.

"What is she doing here?!" Mae exclaimed looking between Philippe and I. There was no time to answer that question however. One of the men advanced toward Philippe. In his hands he held a burlap sack and chains. Abruptly he pulled the sack over Philippe's head then cut the ropes. He then proceeded to shackle Philippe.

Shocked by what I was seeing I screamed. "Stop it! Leave him alone!" I struggled against the one who held me.

Philippe yelled in panic and pain as the man roughly grabbed his arm.

"Gently!" A deep yet kind voice spoke amidst the commotion.

We all turned our heads in the direction that the voice came. The man who was holding Philippe froze. The voice emerged from the cottage. He was tall with dark hair and he wore a black cassock. Was he a priest as well? I wondered.

"Put him in the carriage but do so as gently as possible. You must remember he is no ordinary prisoner."

_Prisoner._ The word sent chills down my spine. The man began to move Philippe toward the carriage as instructed.

"Why are you taking him?!" I screamed. "What wrong has he committed?!"

The man in black looked over at me with a confused expression then looked at Mae and Father Alard. "Who is this?"

Mae was too distraught to answer but Father Alard managed to answer for me. "She stumbled upon our cottage by chance about two years ago. She was instructed never to return here again." His accusing eyes stared at me.

Overcome with a variety of emotions, I glanced between the two men.

The man in black seemed to think this over then addressed the other men. "You two, stay here." He pointed to the one who held me and the other who was standing in front of the carriage door, which contained Philippe. "Continue to guard the carriage. Take the girl inside for questioning. As for the rest, you are dismissed."

Except for the one who guarded me and the one who was now guarding Philippe, all the other men mounted their horses and headed out.

As the man forced me inside, I found myself at the same kitchen table that I had been interrogated at before by Father Alard. This time I was going to be interrogated by another priest, or so it appeared.

My body shivered. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt lost and sad. My stomach ached. My heart pounded.

The man in black ordered for the bonds to be cut from my wrists then ushered me to a seat at the table. Father Alard was asked to come in as well. He began the interrogation. Strangely enough they were mostly the same questions I had run across before by Father Alard two years earlier. I told him my name, who I was, how I found this place.

"How long have you known Philippe?" he asked.

"We have been secretly meeting the past two years." I admitted, avoiding Father Alard's harsh stare as much as possible.

This seemed to trouble the stranger. "Did you come into contact with anyone else while you met?"

I shook my head, "Non monsieur."

He took a deep breath then sat quietly as if in thought.

"Why are you taking him? Is he going to prison?!" My broken, soft, yet panicked voice broke the silence. I felt sick. My chest racked with sobs. "Please…please don't take him!"

My interrogator surprisingly stared back at me with sympathy. A trace of heaviness fell over his frame. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I cannot tell you what crime he has committed. What I can tell you is that it is for the sake of this country that I am doing this."

He stood up abruptly and moved to the door. His answer did nothing to ease my pain or questions. My heart wrenched and I was so overcome with emotion that I fell forward and buried my head into my hands. "Let her go." I heard his voice say to the guard at the door through my sobs.

This act of kindness did almost nothing for me either. As long as Philippe was taken, there would be no rest for me. Then a thought dawned on me. It was crazy yes, but I was desperate. I stood up quickly and rushed over to the man in black before he walked out of the cottage. I held out my wrists for him. "Please! If he must go, then take me with him!"

The man looked stunned. His lips parted in shock. His sorrowed eyes stared back into mine. He shook his head, "You have a noble heart Elisabeth, but I cannot bring you with us."

"Please!" I begged him as more tears rushed down from my eyes.

"Non mademoiselle." He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It is for your sake that I cannot allow you to come. Please, do as I say. Philippe will be alright. Now go."

His eyes stared into mine, a hidden message displayed. I dared not argue with him anymore. I knew there was a reason why he was telling me to leave. I walked away from the cottage and back toward the woods. I glanced back at the carriage and caught a glimpse of the now bound and hooded Philippe. The man in black stepped into the carriage and within moments they were gone.

The wind picked up. Rain began to drip from the sky then pour. Heaven's tears mixed with my own. I stood there: motionless, broken. I felt as if I would die. I wanted to die. Life with Philippe was safe and comfortable. Life without him…I didn't even want to go on or think about it.

"You caused this!" Mae screamed from the door. "You should never have come!"

I swallowed the lump down my throat. I ran. I ran into the thickness of the woods then into the field then past there. I don't know how far I went or how long I ran. But I ran. I ran from his accusing masters. I ran from the problems that faced me. I ran until I could run no longer. I finally collapsed. Darkness overtook me. I passed out in the midst of a thick grove of trees.

Morning came too soon and I blinked my eyes open. I shivered. I felt soaked to the bone. Minutes turned to hours and hours to days. I refused to move. Despite falling ill I refused to go on. I just sat and waited. I waited for this nightmare to end. I waited for Philippe to come find me, for a miracle to happen.

But nothing happened.

I cried until I could cry no longer. Mae's accusations rang through my head. Was it really my fault that he was taken? Too many questions ran through my mind and drove me to near insanity. I pulled myself up. I headed back toward the cottage.

If anything I had to clear my name. My main goal was to find answers. I trudged weakly to the door. I slammed my fist hard against the wood. The door surprisingly pushed open on its own. I stepped in. The house looked dark and unoccupied.

"Mae? Father Alard?" I called. There was no answer. I ventured inside and stared at the emptiness before me. Not a single soul stirred. It was dead quiet. I looked first in the room that Philippe and I had talked that first night. The thought of Philippe brought heartache so I quickly diverted from my thoughts. I looked up the staircase. There was no one there. I dared not go up there or even enter Philippe's room.

I looked to my left where the kitchen was. The door was closed. I thought that very odd. I never recalled the door ever being closed. I turned the handle and pushed it open. The heavy door creaked against the weight of the hinges. Immediately a foul smell pervaded my senses and I recoiled.

Pinching my nostrils I dared to move forward again. I stopped. My face turned pale. My knees began to buckle. Now I understood where the smell was coming from. The sight before me made me ill. For just in front of me lay Mae and Father Alard. Dead! The food on the table had been halfway consumed which made me realize they must have been poisoned. The color of their skin and the mold that was growing on the food made me believe that this was done a few days ago.

I trembled violently. I had to get out. If I were found out, perhaps they would kill me too. Perhaps that was what the man in black was talking about. I backed up and began to leave but a figure cut me off. I screamed in terror as a gun was raised to my temple. A second pair of footsteps entered the room. It was the man in black only this time he was dressed in a guard's outfit.

He glanced at me in confusion then ordered the other man to drop his weapon and leave. "I will take care of it." He pulled out his own gun. The man left as instructed.

I fell to my knees in terror. He shut the door. He raised the gun. I squeezed my eyes shut. He fired. The explosive sound of gunpowder rang in my ears. However, I felt nothing. Was it over? Was I dead? I opened my eyes. The gun's barrel was not pointed at me but rather at the wall beside me. I looked down at myself then in the direction of where the gun had fired. The bullet was lodged into the cabinet behind me.

"I don't understand…" I began but was quickly hushed by the man. He kneeled before me and grasped my shoulders. "Run and do not return! If they find you they _will_ kill you! Leave out the back way."

"What have you done with Philippe?! Please, I have to know!"

"He is alive. That is all I can tell you. Now go, quickly!" He ushered me out of the room and bid me to hurry.

Though my questions remained unanswered I did as instructed. For some reason this man was different from the others. Perhaps I could trust his word. Perhaps Philippe was alive and alright, like he said.

I ran from the cottage and did not return for a year. When I came back, the cottage was nothing more than a pile of wood and stone. It had been burned down. No doubt to cover the evidence of my sparing I mused. Now, every part of my life with Philippe was taken from me. I choked back tears and left. I never returned. Fate had cruelly stripped us apart.

I wandered my way to Marseilles. I worked most of my days away trying to forget the incidents that shattered the only good world I had ever known, but things like this are not easily forgotten, nor are people such as Philippe or the man in black.

I recently moved to Paris and it is here that I stay even today. I often think of Philippe and wonder if he is even alive. It's been six years since I have seen him but I pray for him often and maybe, just maybe one day, fate will bring us together again…


	3. Prologue: Fate, part 3

Rain pelted the roof of the carriage. The hard drops of water multiplied from a light shower to a hard rain within seconds. The carriage rocked and swayed as it traveled over the long dirt road.

"_Put him in the carriage but do so as gently as possible."_

"_You must remember he is no ordinary prisoner."_

"_He is no ordinary prisoner…"_

The phrase cycled itself repeatedly through Philippe's mind. Yes he had heard what the man said about him, just before he was put into this carriage.

A shiver ran down his spine that caused his whole body to shake. The chains shackled to him rattled in response sending an earthquake of trembling through the metal. Philippe pulled against the shackles but they didn't budge.

Where were they taking him? He wondered. However, the biggest question was _why. Why_ were they taking him? _Why _did they put a hood over his head? _Why_? And on top of that, _who_, under _whose_ orders?

After what seemed like hours, the rhythm of the carriage began to slow then came to a complete stop. Though he was unable to see anything, he could still hear everything around him.

Footsteps approached and opened the carriage door. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. A blurred view of the outside world could be dimly seen through the woven holes in the hood.

"Don't move until I instruct you." The voice spoke.

Philippe's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. His throat tightened. Shadowed figures approached the door of the carriage. Philippe wanted to shrink back, to run away from these men. But there was no escape, just the back wall of the carriage.

A hand reached for his arm. Philippe tensed up. The man must have sensed his uneasiness and he hesitated. He reached for his arm again and placed his hand around it. This time it was a gentle touch as opposed to the rough jostling by the others.

"I'm going to help you down." The voice explained in a calm and almost quiet demeanor. "Slide this way but don't stand up just yet. Now then, carefully stand up but not all the way. Take a step downward. Then one more...good."

Philippe's shoes hit the wet and stony ground and he was steadied by the kinder man, the voice he recognized as the man in black. Two different men came on each side of him and grabbed his arms and began walking him forward.

Thunder rolled through the gray clouds. Rain continued to pour down soaking Philippe's clothes and skin.

They reached a gate then passed through. They led him through an open inner courtyard then entered through another door. Much to Philippe's satisfaction, they were finally out of the rain. The path did not end here however. They continued to take him through door after door, each one clanging closed behind him reminding him of his lost chance of escape.

They stopped suddenly and pushed him backwards against a gray stone wall. Suddenly, the hood was lifted off his head. Hands came on both sides and held his head steady. Before he knew what to expect next a strange iron mask was coming toward his face. Philippe tried to recoil but couldn't move. The mask came closer and closer. The cold iron pressed against his face. He gasped and shuddered. A chill ran down his body. The mask closed tightly around his head encasing him in yet another prison. The man in black latched the contraption closed from just above him.

"Take him to his cell. I will be there shortly."

The men escorted him through several hallways. Curious glances and stares came from both prisoners and guards. Philippe averted his eyes out of embarrassment. Soon he was led to a small room at the top of a small stairway. It seemed to be segregated from the other cells in the prison. Unlike most of the cells that contained several men in one room behind steel bars, this room was much smaller and had a single wooden door with a small window.

"We'll take him from here." two gruff looking guards stepped out of the shadows. They cut off as soon as they saw the mask.

"What's this about?"

"High orders." One of the guards replied handing the two a piece of parchment.

"I see…" The gruffer man scanned the paper over. "Alright, bring him in."

Philippe's body began to tremble again; he managed to find his voice at last. "Wait…wait! Please, what have I done?!" he dug his heels into the stone.

"Don't resist!" The newer guard pulled him gruffly by the arm and practically threw him inside. "Sit!" he ordered.

Philippe's eyes grew wide in terror and he stood there motionless.

"I said sit down!" he pushed Philippe backwards and forced him onto the stone bench. "Do not move!" The guard began to unlock and remove the shackles from Philippe's ankles and wrists. The iron locks blessedly lifted from his body. Philippe hoped they would remove the iron mask as well. Unfortunately, it appeared the man was done and he began to leave the room.

"Wait! Please!" Philippe stood up and began to move toward the guards.

"Don't come any closer!" the guard raised a long iron rod toward the prisoner in warning while others began to pull at their swords.

Shocked and terrified by their reaction he quickly backed away.

A hand grabbed the guard's from the side. The familiar voice spoke again. "He's not violent! There is no need to treat him like an animal."

Warily the guard backed away and left the room. He shut the heavy wooden door behind him leaving Philippe alone in the damp, cold stone cell. Uneasily and very cautiously Philippe walked toward the door again. He peered through the small barred window in the door. "Please…please! I just want to know my crime! What have I done?! Please!"

* * *

Aramis stood on the other side of the wall. His eyes closed as he listened to the prisoner's plea. He held the crucifix tightly in his hand and whispered indiscernible words toward the heavens. "Mon Dieu! Please forgive me!" He crossed himself and finished his prayer then made his way down the corridor and toward the gate. He was prepared to leave when a voice called his name.

"Aramis?"

The priest turned around and met eyes with a familiar friend. "Jacque?"

The man limped toward Aramis. Jacque had been a young musketeer who fought alongside the infamous three but was injured in battle and honorably discharged. He was still quite young compared to the three however. In fact, he may have even been younger than D'Artagnan. Now he had found work as a master guard in the king's prison.

"What are you doing here?" the man grinned brushing his reddish brown hair out of his face.

"Orders from his majesty…" Aramis attempted a smile back but sighed instead.

"Concerning what exactly?"

"A political prisoner…" He nodded his head in direction to the cell.

"Ah, so that's who has been yelling. He says he is innocent." Jacque laughed.

"Yes…well…" Aramis paused rubbing his eyes.

"Are you alright?" Jacque slapped him on the back.

"Long night, that's all." He reassured him. "How is your family by the way?"

"They are doing well. We are expecting another soon." The young ex-musketeer beamed.

"That is good news!" Aramis smiled.

Consistent muffled shouting abruptly halted their conversation and Aramis was reminded of where they were.

"I should leave…I have to return to the king immediately." He stopped again turning halfway. "Take care of him. He is after all a man of importance to the king."

Jacque's brows furrowed at the cryptic message behind Aramis' eyes but he pressed the issue no further. "I will. You take care of yourself. Get some sleep."

"Merci. I will. And you be sure to take care of your family." The priest smiled one more time then left.

* * *

Days passed and Philippe continued to yell. Anytime a guard would come by to drop off food he would beg them for an answer. There was no response from anyone though. Philippe's voice began to tire out and exhaustion was setting in but he would not give up. He tried again. He had to have an answer. "What have I done?! Please! What have I done?!"

Footsteps approached the door. Philippe grasped the iron bars on the small window in anticipation. Perhaps they would have the answer. The door to the window slid open. Philippe recoiled. The sight of the gruff guard who had threatened him his first day stood on the other side.

"If you don't shut your mouth, I will shut it for you!" the guard rapped the door hard with the iron bar for emphasis. The wood cracked against its weight. Philippe imagined that same bar coming against him and shuddered violently.

"I…I'm sorry…" he choked and continued to back away. His back hit the stone wall behind him and he slumped down on his knees in exhaustion and defeat. Satisfied, the guard slid close the shutter on the window and left Philippe alone again.

A large lump caught in his throat and it took more than one try to swallow it down. For once, Philippe took the surroundings in for a moment. It was a plain room, four stone walls with a stone ceiling and floor to match. There was even a stone bench that emerged from the wall to his right. Next to it laid a small pallet filled and surrounded with hay. A pallet he had not even tried to sleep on. Above the bench was a small wooden shelf. Philippe stood up and examined the shelf more closely. There were a couple of books and a Bible. Philippe reached for the Bible and thumbed through the pages. He believed in God but he wasn't sure how he felt about his belief in Him now. How could He allow him to suffer like this? He was innocent…wasn't he? Did he dare to question God? Did he dare not to? A range of emotions filled within him until he couldn't bear it any longer. He wanted to rip the Bible apart out of frustration and anger. Then again, he wanted to read it for comfort and answers.

Howling wind from somewhere above flew into the room. The pages flipped wildly until Philippe's hand stopped it. Philippe glanced down at the book and found a familiar passage, the story of Joseph. How interesting it turned to this story of all. Perhaps it was a sign from Dieu. He sat down and began to read: the betrayal of Joseph by his own flesh and blood, Joseph being sold into slavery then brought into Potiphar's house then put into prison. An innocent young man put into prison, just like he was. He wanted to stop. Was Dieu torturing him?

Something bid him to read on. An unknown stirring rose within his heart. He turned the pages. Joseph was eventually set free and became second in command over all the land. He brought help to the country.

_I don't understand. What does this have to do with me? Joseph's brothers betrayed him, I don't even have a brother. And I am not royalty so how would his outcome even apply. Why give me a false hope?! _

Taking a deep breath Philippe shut the Bible and put it back on the shelf. He looked at the opposite side of the room, just a small wooden table with a stool and a plate and cup on top. Then he noticed the moonlight streaming in from the window above him. That must have been where the wind came from. Along the back wall up toward the window were small ridges that made a tiny staircase of sorts. Suddenly curious about the outside view he moved toward the makeshift stairs. It had been raining for days but Philippe hadn't even noticed the water pouring in the corner. It seemed the rain had stopped though droplets still clung to the iron bars.

The sound of waves crashed outside and the smell of salt water rose through the open window.

Philippe steadied himself as he climbed up the awkward steps. The heaviness of the iron mask did not help his journey nor did the limited view through the eye slits. He was able to reach the top finally and he grabbed the iron bar with one of his hands. All he could see was a small slit of the moon. Maybe if he could pull himself up more, perhaps he could get a better view. Philippe clasped his other hand around the wet handle and pulled himself upward. Instead of seeing more, the view seemed more limited.

Disappointed, Philippe began to climb his way back down but suddenly lost his footing. The rainwater had trailed down onto the stone and made it slippery. He attempted to regain his balance but to no avail. Suddenly, Philippe was airborne. His body flew backward toward the cold hard ground. The weight of the mask shifted his fall and he was falling head first.

* * *

"You two sleeping again?!" Jacque pushed one of the guards out of the chair.

"Non…non. We're awake." The other guard rubbed at his eyes.

"Sure you are."

The gruff guard picked himself back up. "Did you bring us anything to drink?"

"Why? Do you think you deserve it Marcellus?"

"After listening to that prisoner scream all day and night, I think I deserve something. I finally shut him up I think." Marcellus laughed waving the iron rod in the air.

Jacque's blood boiled. He grabbed Marcellus by the collar of his shirt. "You better not have touched him!"

Marcellus pulled away. "Of course I didn't touch him. I just scared him that's all."

Jacque stared hard into his eyes. "He is a political prisoner which means he is to be treated with respect. If anything happens to him without the king's approval, it comes down on my head! And if that happens, you can be sure I will bring you to the gallows with me! Is that understood?"

Marcellus threw his hands up in the air nonchalantly. "Oui."

"Here." Jacque rolled his eyes and shoved a bottle of liquor into the guard's hand.

A loud crash behind them caused the three to jump. "What was that?" Jacque asked.

Marcellus shrugged. "Who knows?"

A loud yell suddenly came from the same direction.

The three stood up.

Jacque gasped. "What in France?!"

"Oh, it's that prisoner again." Marcellus took a swig out of the bottle. "I thought I told him to shut that up."

The yelling continued.

"Non, something's wrong." Jacque grabbed his keys and rushed up the stairs toward the door.

He slid the small shutter over and stared into the cell.

The prisoner was on the floor holding his head writhing and screaming.

Jacque unlocked the door of the cell and entered, the other two quickly followed behind.

"What happened?!" he stood over the prisoner who's muffled yells could still be heard. He bent down next to him and grabbed his arm. "What happened?!" he repeated his question. "Look at me!"

Philippe opened his eyes briefly and caught a watery view of his captor.

The guard stared into Philippe's blue eyes for what little time he allowed him. His mouth opened in shock. "Mon Dieu, you're just a kid…"

Philippe's chest ached. His body shook with sobs.

"What happened?" the guard softened.

"I…I fell." The boy responded between gasps.

Jacque looked up toward the window then back toward Philippe. "You hit your head I'm presuming… Tell me, where does it hurt?"

"All over."

"Where did you hit?"

"Back here…" the boy managed to pull his hand around to the back of his head just where the lock was.

The man inspected the damage on the outside of the mask. It appeared to have been slightly bent in from the impact. "Do you feel any dizziness?"

"A little."

"What kind of pain do you feel? Is it shooting pain or is it throbbing? Is it sharp or pounding?"

"Both." The boy cried. His body trembled.

The guard cursed under his breath then looked at the other two. "Go get me one of those bottles of liquor."

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

One of the two left and quickly returned with an unopened bottle.

"Bring me his cup." He took the liquor and poured a good amount into the boy's cup. "Hold this." He handed it to one of the guards. He then pulled one arm underneath the boy's neck and the other around the boy's arm. "Stand up slowly. I will help you."

Philippe's legs wobbled beneath his body and if it wasn't for the guard's support around his neck, he may have lost his head as well.

The man eased Philippe onto the small pallet in the corner but had him sit up with his back against the wall. He reached for the cup then placed it to the mouthpiece on the mask. "Try to drink some; it will help ease the pain."

"What is this…" the boy asked through sobs but was cut off by the guard.

"Shhh…. just drink."

Philippe brought his hands toward the cup and slowly took sips. The taste was awful, the smell even worse. It burned as it ran down his throat but it warmed his body and slowly the pain around his head began to lighten and exchanged for dizziness.

"You're going to make him drunk!" Marcellus laughed.

"Non, I'm not giving him too much, just enough to help ease the pain and help him sleep. It's all we can do. I just hope that the injury isn't serious."

The boy choked the awful stuff until he could hardly stand it anymore. He shoved the cup away from him. Nausea set in. Yet slowly he calmed down, the sobs subsided to quiet sniffles and in time he began to nod off. Jacque helped the boy down onto the pallet and began to leave the room. The two had already moved on. Something caught Jacque's eye and so he hesitated. A small crumpled piece of paper lay curiously in the middle of the floor.

"What is this?" he picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. "Better yet, _who_ is this?" He scanned the paper over then tucked it into his shirt.

* * *

Several days passed. The master guard kept a watchful eye on his prisoner searching for any sign of change.

"Jacque."

Jacque spun around. "Aramis? You're back again?"

"Oui." Aramis paused. "How is he?"

"As good as a prisoner can be I suppose." Jacque looked back through the window of the cell and pointed in. "See for yourself."

Aramis looked briefly into the cell and found the boy asleep on the pallet covered by layers of hay. He looked back at Jacque. "He seems to have quieted down."

"Oui…but there is something I must tell you. A few days ago he fell and hit his head. He must have been trying to climb up to that window and slipped. He came down head first and hit the back where the lock is."

A tinge of alarm ran through the priest's body. "Is he alright?!"

"I have been watching him the past few days and he seems alright. He's a bit lethargic but that's to be expected when hitting your head that hard."

The priest's eyes closed and he shook his head. "That must have hurt."

"It must have. He was screaming up a storm. It took a while to calm him down. I…gave him some liquor to ease the pain."

Aramis' eyebrows rose and a small smile turned up at the corners of his mouth in amusement. "Did it help?"

"Oui." He sighed. "He was finally able to fall asleep."

Aramis glanced back in and noted the uneaten meal on the table. "I'm guessing he hasn't had much of an appetite either. Has he eaten anything the past few days?"

"He has eaten, but very little. He told me it was hard for him to eat in that contraption and that the headache was making him nauseous. Not to worry though, I haven't seen a trace of blood coming out of the mask. I'm sure this will subside in a few days. It's difficult treating someone with a head injury when there's an enclosure around it."

"I had no idea you were a physician." Aramis teased.

The man chuckled. "I'm not. My father was and I was able to learn a lot from him." He abruptly grew more serious and his voice hushed. "Aramis. He's so young. Why is he here? Who is he?"

"You know I cannot say that."

He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. He can't be a political prisoner; he looks no more than sixteen."

"Even young men can be used in battle. You began in the musketeer ranks at only eighteen."

"Oui but from what I have seen about this young man, he's the furthest thing from a soldier. Besides, why would he not know what his crime is?"

The priest stared at him blankly.

"He has been asking for days what his crime is. I find it odd that he has no knowledge of doing anything wrong."

"Sometimes it's best to leave the issue alone." Aramis' eyes rose to Jacque's in warning.

"Fine." The master guard threw his hands up in resignation. "Why are you here then?"

"I came to inform you that there will be a priest who will visit him once a month for confession."

"A priest other than you I am presuming."

The two shared an amused smile.

"I find it interesting that he is being allowed a priest. I have never known a prisoner to be allowed such courtesies. Or a private room for that matter." The guard rubbed at the stubble on his chin still contemplating the mystery surrounding his new prisoner.

"Give this to him." Aramis ignored the ex-musketeer's remarks and handed him a blanket.

"I will. I'm sure he will appreciate it."

"I'm sure he will." Aramis took one last glance into the chamber. "Give it to him soon. He looks cold."

"Of course…Oh! Before you leave..." Jacque pulled out the paper he found earlier and unfolded it. "Do you know who this is?"

Aramis scanned it over. "It's a drawing…oh…yes. It was a friend of his. I think I recall her name…Elisabeth. Give that back to him. It's his."

"He's a good artist."

Aramis smiled. "Indeed. Now return it to him. I'm sure he will want to keep that."

"Right, I'll give this to him now. Will I expect to see you again?"

"Non. I will not return here. Not unless Dieu wishes it."

"Then until fate bring us together again."

"Until then my friend, remember, take care of him." The priest bowed and left.


	4. Chapitre Un: Moonlit Night

**Author's Note: Josette is pronounced as Zho-set or Jo-set. Père is the French word for Father. Mon Dieu is My God.**

**Chapitre Un**

* * *

Six years later…

"_Philippe_!" Elise gasped. Her quivering hand rose slowly to her agape mouth.

It was hard to believe; yet there he was. Standing just a few feet from her were those blue eyes and the soft brown hair that she remembered so well.

Her knees shook. She took a step forward to steady herself. Both stood silent. Both were unsure of what to say, what to do. After all, it had been six years!

Elise moved forward slowly. Her hands outstretched in front of her wishing to embrace him in a hug. Or to just touch him! She had to make sure he was real! She took another step. He was getting closer. She reached for him.

But mysterious and rough hands pulled Philippe back, back into the darkness of woods that surrounded them. Back into a pitch black that was suddenly before her and behind him. She ran forward attempting to save him. Tears coursed down her face. She could hear his pleading, his agonized voice calling her name over and over…"Elise! Elise! Elise…"

"Elise…Elise wake up!"

Elise jolted upward gasping for breath. It was a dream; or rather a nightmare. The same nightmare she had had for the last six years since their parting. She rubbed her eyes trying to regain focus in the dimly lit room. Her fingers felt wet as she rubbed off the remains of tears that had fallen down her flushed cheeks.

"Thank goodness you're awake!" Josette sighed in relief then frowned. "Ah but you look a mess…you were crying in your sleep and mumbling incessantly. Are you alright?"

Elise sat up steadying herself. "I'm fine, really…" she smiled weakly at her mistress.

Josette wasn't buying it. "Elise, almost every night it seems like you have these nightmares…I think it would do you some good if you spoke your dream aloud. After all," she continued, "you are like a sister to me and we tell each other everything! So please, tell me what these dreams are about." She looked up in thought for a moment. "Père used to tell me when I was a little girl that talking dreams out will prevent you from dreaming those awful dreams again. And guess what…he was right!" She grinned then went on a long escapade of some strange dream she had as a child and how her father had helped her.

Elise smiled at her mistress. Josette was always so inquisitive, always wanting to help others, even if that meant prying into the depths of others secret lives. Her mother was worse in some regards. Yet both were very kind and welcoming people. Even their father was a kind man. Elise was very blessed to have been taken in by them. Though she had agreed to work for them, they refused to force her to do so. The Chevalier family had taken her in as one of their own even though she had the status of a servant. In fact, all the servants seemed to be treated like family. Elise was just made to be another daughter since she was the closest in age to Josette, their only child.

Thoughts turned around in her mind. She and Josette had been friends ever since she had arrived. In fact, you would almost mistake them for sisters by the way they acted, but it was evident by appearance that was not the case. Elise had dark brown eyes with dark brown hair whereas her mistress had bright green eyes with beautiful blonde locks that crowned her head gracefully. Josette was truly beautiful and had a lot of suitors in line for her. Elise was beautiful as well though she always felt that if they were in competition, Josette would win out easily. Of course, Josette would have said the same about Elise.

Elise shook out of her thoughts hearing her name.

Josette stared at her. "Are you daydreaming again? Were you listening to anything I was saying?" she poked her arm teasingly.

"I'm sorry Josette." Elise laughed. "I was just thinking of all the good times we have had together. And of how grateful I am to be friends with you."

Josette grinned and patted Elise's hand. "I am grateful too…" she paused for a moment then pushed further, "So, what about that dream?"

Elise shook her head smiling. "You really are persistent. Alright then…" she paused for a moment and studied the room around her. She needed to decide just how much she would tell. "In my dream I see a young man." She began slowly choosing to leave her past out of it and to tell it as if it were merely a strange dream. "And every time I move toward him, he is pulled back by hands…" she pulled her hands up for emphasis demonstrating how they would grab him. "He calls my name over and over but each time I try to save him, the dream ends." She looked up at Josette who seemed very confused.

"I wonder if it means something…" Josette mused.

"I doubt it…" Elise responded quickly, "It's just a dream Josette. That's all."

"But why would you have such a dream like that over and over if it did not mean something?" Josette inquired. Her green eyes were turned upward in deep thought. "Perhaps," she finally added after a long pause, "it means that you are to rescue someone soon?"

"Perhaps…" Elise responded dryly though her heart ached for such an opportunity again. "I'm going to take a walk…"

"But it's…" her mistress searched the room for the clock. "It's only three in the morning!" Josette protested. "The sun hasn't even come up!"

"I might as well be up if I can't go back to sleep. I'll be back in a half hour, I promise." She smiled again at her mistress. "Go ahead and go back to sleep…"

Josette reluctantly agreed as a yawn, expressing her own tiredness began to force itself through her body. "Very well. Goodnight."

As Josette moved back to her bed, Elise pulled the thick duvet covers off of her and grabbed a robe out of the large wardrobe. Dressing herself quickly she grabbed the small-lit lantern that Josette had left at her bedside and made her way out of the room.

She quietly moved her way throughout the manor being careful of any boards that may creak. This house, though very beautiful and full of luxury, was also very old. There was consistent work to be done to repair some of the older portions of the house and it was nearly finished. The house had been in the Chevalier family for years, passed down from one generation to the next, given to the first born son since the medieval times when their family's last name was their actual occupation. Knights!

Every corridor she turned down, even the staircase was lined with the finest of French art and décor. The Chevalier family was host to many parties and though not yet graced by the king himself, the father was an advisor of sorts to the king when needed.

While admiring the house she had lived in the past few years, Elise made her way down the long staircase and moved quickly past the dining hall, parlor, and kitchen to the back of the house. She opened the back door slowly, hoping that the door wouldn't creak as she did and slipped through.

Closing the door behind her, she turned around and gazed at the beauty before her. The marbled courtyard lay before her casting a beautiful reflection of the soft moon above. Rows of flowers and shrubbery surrounded the edges of the marble. A single pathway lay just beyond, winding itself through the gardens and even further out into the woods behind the manor.

Elise took in the surroundings. The night air was cool but still. The moon was full tonight, shining beautifully above the manor, surrounded by stars that twinkled merrily; casting a soft bluish glow over the land. There was something about night that Elise loved. Everything was so calm at night, the melody was different. Instead of the daytime busyness, the hustle and bustle that often took away from nature's orchestra; the night had its own symphony to play. Crickets chirped and the sound of frogs croaking in the woods could be heard. The fountains had their own part splashing water over and over in a soothing swift motion. Night had its time to shine. If only daytime could be just as peaceful.

Elise moved forward again, holding the lamp purposefully before her making sure that her way was well lit. She followed the path down through the gardens, occasionally stopping to admire the moon caressed flowers.

Stopping just short of the forest, she sighed heavily. Straight ahead she could see her favorite spot by the small pond. It was an open area where a single boulder lay peculiarly next to the water. The trees made a small clearing so one could see the moon above. It was here that she liked to write, to read, to think, to pray...

She treaded slowly down the path. Reaching the large rock, she climbed up and sat the lantern next to her. Elise pulled her legs up underneath her chin and closed her eyes. "_Mon Dieu…"_ she whispered into the night air, "if he is still alive, and I pray he is, please save him! Please help _me_ save him…if that is what You wish…" Her tear-filled eyes turned upward and gazed at the full moon. _"I wonder if you are shining over Philippe as well…"_ Elise thought.

* * *

Waves crashed against the ominous building that caged so many. For the Bastille and its prisoners, there was nothing beautiful about night.

_Prison _

The word itself was enough to jar even the strongest of men. And unfortunately these days, it seemed just about anything would land you behind the Bastille's thick stone walls.

High up in one of the towers, the moon's rays shone in through a small opening, graciously casting its soft blue glow into the prisoner's chamber. It was a full moon tonight, but who could tell by the annoying direction of the window that concealed the young man's full view of the night sky.

He had tried it several times before, craning his neck in several directions, or even trying to readjust his body to see the moon, but to no avail. As long as the mask was on him and as long as the bars covered that window and the position of the window remained the same, there was no way of seeing the moon in its entire splendor.

Philippe gave up with a long sigh. Most people were so blessed without even realizing it. He imagined that people took these kinds of things for granted, passing by the most beautiful things that nature could offer. The trees, the flowers, the ocean; and what about the creatures that lived their free lives? Were they grateful?

There had been one time he could recall that _Dieu_ had sent an angel to him, in the form of a small bird. It had perched itself on the edge of the bars at the window and chirped merrily in the brightness of the sun. Philippe had watched it carefully with delight, and slowly made an attempt to get closer to it, to enjoy its beauty. Amazingly, he was somehow able to get so close to the bird that he could almost touch it. What a treasure!

Just as he dared to reach out and touch the bird, a loud sound somewhere in the prison caused the bird to fly away. The treasure, the angel was gone. The ray of hope in his heart had fleeted with the knowledge that he was still in prison. Yet he was very grateful for that one moment with God's creation. Now if only he could see the moon! What he would give just to see the moon!

Philippe sat on the small stone bench and rested his head in his hands or rather the iron cage that contained his head. He rubbed one shoulder then the other and tried to rub his neck where the iron had not enclosed it. The iron mask was very heavy and had caused many a headache and loss of sleep, thus partly his reason for being up so late this night. Of course, there wasn't much to do throughout the daytime either except count the stones in his cell perhaps, but he had done that a thousand times now. So sleep was about the only option to pass the hours away. When exhaustion set in that caused him to pass out, _then_ he could sleep. The couple books on the shelf above him had already been read at least a thousand times as well. Next to them sat the Bible. He was sure he had read that through a hundred times by now. Now, he turned to his thoughts.

At first he was afraid that if he remembered all the good things, he would begin to miss them and go mad as a result. But as he allowed his mind to remember those things, it was just the opposite. The good things he recollected were what gave him hope, and at times, peace, an escape from the darkness of the prison and his own fate.

He closed his eyes and let the memories ensue. It was becoming more difficult each day to remember what the trees looked like and how the grass felt underneath bare feet, or how the wind felt on a warm summer day. He let his imagination take him to another time.

He stood at the end of a grassy bank and jumped into the cool lake beneath him. He sprung up out of the water and began to swim. Fish tickled his legs and feet as he passed them by, while birds chirped heartily in the trees that surrounded the area; and then, at the edge of the bank, stood Elise. She was waiting for him, smiling, with soft linen in her hands so he could dry off.

"_Elise…" _his mind trailed away from the painted image. What he would give to see her again, even if it meant looking upon her from a distance. He would find satisfaction in just being able to see her once more. After all, she was the only friend he had ever had.

The smile that had caressed the pale feature of Philippe's face began to etch away into a small frown as he remembered their parting. He didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. Where was she now? Was she alright?

A sudden fear shot up in Philippe. What had happened to his caretakers? Were they well? Did Elise end up in trouble? Was it because she had discovered him that he was put in prison?

These very thoughts had haunted him ever since he had arrived, sending annual cases of anxiety into his heart. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, the heaviness of the mask bowing his head near to the ground. "_Oh Mon Dieu…"_ he prayed feverishly. His body shook as his mind played tricks on him. He had played the scene over and over in his head before, and for some reason, the same real nightmare continued to plague his mind.

He recalled the day he was captured. Haunting images of gruff men, who grabbed him, shackled and imprisoned him. The sound of Mae's screams. The sound of Elise's pleading.

Philippe trembled as his mind continued to play games.

What did they do with Elise? What about his caretakers?

He had begged for an answer and was met with hostility. It was only later that he realized his face had to be hidden, but for what purpose? Not even Jacques was able to answer this. And he seemed to be the only one who cared about him. In fact, Philippe recalled the very day that Jacques had given him a blanket and the drawing.

He was grateful for the blanket, but the drawing…the return of his drawing overwhelmed him with such gratitude that he had crumpled to the floor in tears worrying Jacques half to death.

Jacques was no longer the master key holder anymore. He had been promoted to another job somewhere outside the prison cells. It had been a while since Philippe had heard from him. Now, he was left alone with the gruff or strange new guards who couldn't care less about him or his plight.

Philippe sat up and pulled the half-finished portrait out again and stared at it. He traced his finger over the lines and tried to remember exactly what she looked like. If only he had a way of finishing it.

The sound of footsteps approached the door and the small window to the door was unlatched and opened. Philippe folded the paper quickly and tucked it into his shirt. He stared through the cold bars at the man on the other side.

"Breakfast…" the guard held the dry piece of bread up for Philippe to take.

Philippe stared at him for a moment in confusion. Was it truly morning already? He looked back at the window and noticed the sun's orange rays beginning to pour in. How quickly time had passed.

"Well, are you going to eat or not?!" The guard asked gruffly making his already gritty sounding voice sound like sharp rocks rubbed over an iron grate.

"Ou…oui …" Philippe replied softly, making his way to the door. He began to reach for the bread but the guard pulled it back again suddenly leaving Philippe very confused.

The guard stood there in irritation. "How long have you been here?"

"I…" Philippe began but was cut off by the guard. He meant to say "I don't know" for honestly who could tell how long time had passed when there was no clock or calendar to keep time.

"Six years" the guard continued annoyed, "and you can't even remember to bring your cup over here?"

Philippe stood shocked. "Six years?" he mumbled back, and then realized the guard's patience was wearing thin. "Oh…" he rushed over to the shelf and pulled the metal cup over.

"It's about time" the guard rolled his eyes pouring water into the cup. "Here…" he tossed the bread to Philippe who juggled it one handedly, trying to keep it from falling on the floor while attempting to save his water at the same time. Thankfully he was able to save it this time. Other times it had fallen away from his hands and landed on the dirty ground beneath him.

The small shutter closed again and latched. The sound of the guard's footsteps and the clanking of keys could be heard disappearing into the halls of the prison. Philippe moved to sit down again and began pulling the bread apart making smaller pieces. It wasn't always easy eating between the two pieces of iron that formed the mouth of the mask. Whoever had crafted this thing had obviously never worn it before, nor had they considered the death trap it could become.

Philippe's mind wandered to another time when he was attempting to eat in the mask. They had brought him a small plate of meat which was rare and far and few in between.

He had taken a cutlet and began to chew it. Somehow the piece slipped to the back of his throat causing him to choke.

He was unable to pry his finger between the mask's mouthpiece to get it out. Frantically, he tried another method. He forced his hands hard against his stomach sending the air outward. The piece flew out of his mouth and somehow made it out of the mask's. It left him shaken for the next few days and he was more cautious about eating ever since then.

Then a disturbing thought shot through his mind. What if they _had_ intended for it to be a death trap? What if he was meant to die in this prison, to be killed by the mask eventually? Philippe put down the pieces he had slowly been munching on and sighed heavily. What did he do to deserve such an awful fate? Why did they create a mask for him? Why did his face have to remain hidden?

He glanced at his hands. Dirty. He scanned his clothes. Tattered and worn out. Six years? Had it truly been that long? How much longer would fate allow him? How much longer would he live without knowing who he truly was? How much longer could he keep faith in the God who had seemingly betrayed him?

**Author's Note: Though I understand that the book addresses the Island of Ste. Marguerite as the prison, for my purpose, I'm making it simple and staying with the Bastille, and yes, I do believe and understand that the Bastille was in Paris and probably not surrounded by an ocean, however it was surrounded by a moat. Also, the scene with the bird was inspired by the movie "The Count of Monte Cristo" another of Dumas' wonderful stories.**


End file.
